If You Were My Boat in the Deep Blue Sea
by anonymoustoaster
Summary: Rachel and Quinn reconnect in Lima 10 years after high school
1. Chapter 1

Repressed.

Nearly ten years of therapy had boiled down to that one word and led to the conclusion that every failed relationship Rachel Berry ever had was a direct result of completely denying the fact that she was gay. Super gay. Really, really gay.

Her engagement to Finn Hudson hadn't lasted much past him putting her on a train and shipping her off to New York. Her summer fling with Noah Puckerman survived right up until she left for NYADA (except, of course, for the lapse in judgement when she fucked him standing up against the washer/dryer combo in his apartment over winter break of freshman year - that didn't count and was only, in hindsight, her attempt to prove to herself that she wanted him, or any man at all).

Relationships in college were relatively non-existent for her, which she could attribute to constantly being in the process of auditioning, rehearsing, or performing in a one-act, a workshop, a play, a musical, or any other staged production she could throw herself into. Rachel had flirtations and one-night stands with her co-stars and leading men, but nothing ever made it out of the gate. She kept telling herself that it was because of her focus on her career and her ambition and _not_due to the fact that she had absolutely no desire to even kiss any of them, let alone go further.

Since graduating from William McKinley High School, Rachel's longest relationship had been with Dr. Sheila Rabinowitz, a psychiatrist specializing in anxiety disorders. At first they had spent their sessions dealing with nothing but the four years of complete and utter bullshit she had been forced to endure at the hands of the cretins and neanderthals she grew up with. They worked through slushie attacks, nicknames, backstabbing, and boyfriend stealing. They tackled being the daughter of two gay men in a small town. They faced insecurity about her talent, her appearance, and her self-worth head on. But for 9 years and 244 days they avoided what Rachel liked to call "the big one" - the fact that was unable to sustain an intimate relationship of any sort for much longer than twenty-four hours. Then, like a bolt of fucking lightning _It _happened.

_It _was Yael David, a dancer in the traveling troupe of the Israel Ballet who she had met at a party for the dancers after a performance of "Serenade" at Lincoln Center. _It_ was the first time that she had, after four glasses of champagne in quick succession, allowed the tingling feeling to creep up her legs and into her stomach as another woman laughed at a snarky comment she made, leaning in, tracing her bare shoulder. _It_ was an accent that dripped sexual tension, a kiss in the back of a taxi, a tongue, lips, breasts, hips, curves, soft moans and one hell of a hangover. She woke up alone, naked, tangled in sheets with a sticky wetness and a faint trace of perfume her only proof that _It _was real.

So, after a double session in Dr. Rabinowitz's office that involved a lot of crying and a lot more swearing, a 28 year-old Rachel Berry found herself flying back to Lima to break the news in person to her dad and her daddy that their daughter was a lesbian. It wasn't that she didn't think they would take the news any way but graciously, but Rachel couldn't stand that there was even a glimmer of a chance that anyone would think of them as lesser parents as a result. Dr. Rabinowitz pointed to that fear, fear of disappointing Leroy and Hiram Berry, her most stable support system and her biggest fans, as the reason she had denied her attraction to women for so long. Rachel had told the doctor to fuck off and slammed the office door loudly enough to rattle the framed credentials on the wall (or at least she hoped so).

As soon as her flight touched down in Dayton she pulled out her phone, powered it on, and surreptitiously sent two text messages. The first was to her agent and read simply, "Went to Ohio for a while. I will call you when I am back in New York." The second, to her roommate, Steven, was shorter. "Landed in Hell." Her agent never responded which meant that her audition for Hope Harcourt in the revival of the revival of _Anything Goes _didn't go anywhere and she would be taking catering jobs between chorus roles for a while longer when she returned to the city. Steven texted back, "Good luck, gorgeous. Drink. Heavily." Rachel laughed loudly at that, earning a dirty look from the man in a necktie and wedding ring who had flirted with her for the entire flight while she pretended to be incredibly interested in the SkyMall catalogue.

She shouldered her carry-on and pushed her sunglasses down from the top of her head as she walked off the plane, steeling herself for the inevitable questions around her impromptu visit home in the beginning of October. Rachel didn't think her dads would buy Columbus Day as a valid excuse. She looked around for the two men as she headed down the escalator toward the baggage claim and smiled when she saw Leroy pulling Hiram by the hand toward her. They enveloped her in a three-way hug and she inhaled the smell of their colognes commingling, an aroma that reminded her that she was home, even though she hadn't lived in their house for almost a decade.

They dropped their arms and Leroy looked down at her, lifted her sunglasses, and frowned at the dark circles under her eyes. "Rachel, not that we aren't happy to see you, but what are you doing here? You called yesterday and said you booked a one-way flight and now, here you are, looking like you haven't slept in days. You don't need a reason, but we are wondering what prompted this open-ended trip. Is this about a man because..." His voice had gotten higher and higher as he went until Rachel had cut him off.

"Daddy," she huffed, "let me get my fucking suitcase and we can talk in the car."

He rolled his eyes and chided, "Language, Rachel. You are still my little girl."

They didn't end up talking in the car and instead spent the entire hour in a sing-along to the _Wicked _soundtrack, something Rachel knew her fathers couldn't resist when she pulled up the playlist. They didn't talk when they got to the house in Lima because Rachel needed to shower, and they didn't talk over dinner because her fathers had a business dinner that had been scheduled for months. By the time Rachel woke up the following morning, Leroy and Hiram had left for work, leaving a scribbled note on the kitchen counter that said, "Sweetie, dinner at 6. No more avoiding us."

That note is the sole reason that, at 6:00 pm, Rachel was drinking alone at a dive bar just outside of Lima sucking slowly on a gin and tonic and staring straight into her glass while hoping she didn't run into anyone who remembered who she was. Her daddy texted her and she ignored the first five messages, finally replying to the sixth with, "I'm at someplace called 'oes'" because that was what it said in neon over the front door (she was pretty sure the name of the place was Joes, but she wasn't going to make it easier for them to track her down). She practically ran out of the place at 6:35 when the unmistakable mullet-wearing Rick "The Stick" Nelson, who apparently really was a Lima Loser, walked up to the bar and glanced her way.

She was home by 6:45, poking at the arm of the new grey sofa in the living room, avoiding eye contact with both her dad and her daddy and quietly lying, "I just needed a break. I had a bad audition and I needed to be away from the city for awhile."

They both sighed and wrapped her up in their arms and said, "You _will _make it, Rachel Berry. It is just a matter of time." She cried, which they thought was related to her career, but was really because she lied to them, something she had never done about anything serious before. They cheered her up with schnapps from their recent trip to Austria, sipped from tiny glasses while they watched movies until she fell asleep. She woke up, hours later, with a throw blanket tucked around her and a feeling of dread pitting deep in her stomach. She slinked upstairs to her room and didn't open the door again until she was sure both her parents had left for work the next day.

When Rachel finally descended into the kitchen she found three beans left in the bag of coffee which is how she found herself holding her breath in line at the Lima Bean right behind Judy Fabray, hoping the woman didn't turn around.

Rachel contemplated escaping before she was noticed, but her raging caffeine addiction won out in the end and she waited while the woman in front of her ordered, paid for, and received her small black coffee. The blonde almost made it by her without looking in her direction but just when Rachel thought she had avoided an inevitably uncomfortable encounter, the woman raised her head and made eye contact, the corner of her mouth raising slightly as she tried to place the face in front of her. "Rachel Berry, right?"

In Rachel's head, her brain was muttering a mantra of profanity (fuck, fuck, fuck) but she put on her best show face and said sweetly, "Mrs. Fabray! It is so wonderful to see you."

Judy smiled back, though Rachel would classify it as "church-lady fake nice" and said, "Quinnie is in town for her sister's _second _wedding. You should come by the house. I bet she would love to see you." The disdain that surrounded the word "second" was impossible to not notice.

Rachel knew that Quinn Fabray lived in Toronto because they were both members of the _Inaugural WMHS Glee Club Keep-in-touch Facebook Group_, a group Rachel herself had created years ago. They exchanged birthday messages on each other's walls, and occasionally "liked" each other's posts, but their communication hadn't extended beyond social media for nearly five years. Sure, the pair had been tentative friends when they finished high school and they had emailed back and forth through college, seeing each other during breaks and occasionally when Quinn came to New York with friends from Yale or when Rachel used her train pass to New Haven, but when Quinn finished college she entered the Peace Corp, got posted in Namibia and effectively removed herself from Rachel's radar.

After NYADA, Rachel had been swept up in Off-Off Broadway productions and three on-call catering companies, followed by Off-Broadway roles and only two catering companies, which lead to actual honest-to-goodness Broadway chorus roles bolstered by the remaining catering jobs she still picked up to make the rent. She saw Blaine all the time (he was on-again, off-again with Steven since she introduced the two at her NYADA graduation party) and texted with Kurt and Puck. Other than that, she engaged in clandestine online stalking of the remaining Glee members, keeping up to date on their lives from a comfortable distance. When Quinn had returned from Africa, she had posted in their group, "Hey." and Rachel had liked the post.

Rachel shook her head, clearing her thoughts, and refocused on the woman standing in front of her. "Um, I don't even know her number anymore," she said, still smiling, hoping it would end the encounter and they both could forget they saw each other and move on. Judy, however, could not be thwarted.

"Rachel, she _really_ needs a friend right now. Call the house. The number is listed." Before Rachel could process what those three sentences even meant, the blond was gone, spinning quietly on her heel and whisking out the door, and Rachel was sipping her iced soy latte as she wandered back toward her parents' house, her brain fixed on someone she hadn't _really_ thought about in years.


	2. Chapter 2

Some things about Rachel Berry had changed since high school (she swore like a sailor, for one) but many things had not. Chief among those character traits that had remained consistent: organization, planning, and persistence. A combination of those three qualities formed the reason that Rachel found herself jogging in a circuit she had mapped such that it would take her by the Fabray house three times in one run. Every time, she glanced sidelong at the front of the house as she passed by hoping that, by chance, Quinn would be outside and would wave her over for a chat.

She had no luck on Monday, no luck on Tuesday, and almost gave up by Wednesday, but was glad she didn't because it was on Wednesday that she caught a glimpse of Quinn Fabray dressed in Carhartt work pants rolled up to the knee and a ribbed white tank top standing on a ladder against the front of the home. Rachel slowed down, hoping that Quinn would turn around and see her running by but she just kept cleaning the gutters, never glancing toward the street.

After Wednesday's Quinn sighting, Rachel realized that she would have to change her methodology. Clearly she was not going to get away with the happenstance meeting she had hoped for and would have to figure out a slightly more proactive approach to figuring out what was so wrong with Quinn Fabray. She opened her email and was surprised to see a message waiting her from Quinn.

_**To: Rachel Berry**_  
_**From: Quinn Fabray**_

_**You can stop running by my house every day. Mom told me she saw you at the Lima Bean and that you may be calling. Don't bother.**_

Rachel was somewhat nonplussed. In the first place, Quinn _had _seen her and had the gall to ignore her. In the second place, focusing on Quinn had allowed her to forget for a few hours that she was back in Lima to inevitably disappoint her fathers and to face head on her upended world view. If, as it sounded, however, Quinn did not want her around, then she was back to wallowing in her own issues. She huffed (yet another trait that she held onto from her younger days) and tapped her fingers against the keys, pondering a reply. The longer she stared at the screen, the more frustrated she became. Rachel never asked for Judy Fabray to assault her in the line at the Lima Bean. She never asked for Quinn to be in Lima and not Canada where she belonged. And she certainly never asked Quinn to fucking email her. Before she could stop herself, she pounded out a reply and pushed send.

_**To: Quinn Fabray**_  
_**From: Rachel Berry**_

_**Hello Quinn. First, I hope you are well, and that your sister has a lovely wedding. Second, I had no idea I was running by your home! I was so caught up in my route that I didn't even notice where I had ended up. Third, I had no intention of calling you, I mean, why would I? It isn't like we have spoken in, what, five years?! If I hadn't run into Judy at the coffee shop I never would have expected you to even be here. Don't you live in Toronto now?**_

_**Fuck off, Quinn Fabray.**_

_**Warmest regards,**_

_**Rachel Barbra Berry ***_

_**PS - Is your sister's wedding the only reason you are in Lima? I had no idea you even go along with her.**_

Satisfied with herself, Rachel headed off for a shower. She fully expected Quinn to ignore her email so she would have to find another mechanism for further avoidance of the Rachel Berry Addressing Her Sexuality With Her Homosexual Fathers Plan. As she stood under the scalding water watching the steam collecting on the glass shower door, she became more and more ashamed of herself. She had been in Lima for less than a week and had regressed to something most similar to the teenaged version of herself. She was throwing mini-tantrums, ranting by email, and letting Quinn Fabray get under her skin. Gone was the confident, on-the-cusp of stardom adult that had left New York and, in her place, was a petulant and immature human that Rachel didn't recognize. "I may as well wear a sweater with a fucking giraffe on it," she muttered out loud to no one.

Rachel toweled herself off and grabbed her laptop, flopping on her bed intent on wasting the afternoon away watching videos online and not thinking about anything serious. Unfortunately her email box had been left open and she was faced with an unread message - a reply from Quinn.

_**To: Rachel Berry**_  
_**From: Quinn Fabray**_

_**Your email was nonsensical. You want me to fuck off and then you ask me questions as a post-script? Who does that? Apparently Rachel BARBRA Berry does that. Ugh. Since when do you even tell people to fuck off (you hate that word, or, at least you used to)? You live four blocks from me, by the way, and you haven't been away from Lima long enough to have forgotten where you were, so nice try. **_

_**Sincerely,**_

_**Lucy Quinn Fabray**_

_**PS - What brings you to Lima in October? That's the real question...**_

Rachel fought the urge to chuck her Macbook against the wall and instead opted to attempt to beat Quinn at whatever game they were currently playing. She smiled inwardly, however, at how quickly they had fallen into the familiar bantering relationship that they had formed during their years in college.

_**To: Quinn Fabray**_  
_**From: Rachel Berry**_

_**Lucy (I didn't know I was allowed to call you that, but I think I will),**_

_**Thank you so much for your kind reply! I am in Lima to visit my fathers as they have recently returned from a trip abroad and I missed them. I am between engagements since the run of my last show ended so I decided I would come home for Columbus Day. Dad and Daddy always love it when I can make it to town as they know how busy the schedule of an actress can be! :) In any case, you never answered my question! How long will you be in town? Are you heading back to Toronto when the wedding is over?**_

_**Best,**_

_**RBB***_

Game, set and match: Berry. Rachel was incredibly pleased with herself. She had maintained her calm demeanor and had not let her (inexplicable) frustration with Quinn get the best of her. She was also thrilled with the ease with which her lie rolled off her fingertips. Rachel had no problem being out of the closet - which she would argue she was never in in the first place - but Quinn Fabray certainly didn't need to find out about her epiphany before her parents did. Rachel closed the lid of her laptop as she heard the garage door rolling up signaling the arrival of Leroy or Hiram. She pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, tossed her wet hair up in a messy bun and bounced down the stairs forgetting for the moment about a blonde sitting four blocks away.

Rachel and her fathers spent the evening embroiled in round after round of the Berry-oake (a version of competitive Karaoke that Rachel had dreamed up while at NYADA). It was well after midnight when Rachel finally headed up to her room and checked her email again.

_**To: Rachel Berry**_  
_**From: Quinn Fabray**_

_**I've been going to the Lima Bean every morning at 8:30. Just an FYI.**_

_**Q.**_

Rachel smiled and set her alarm for 7:30 the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a struggle for Rachel to not go to the coffee shop at 8:00 to wait for Quinn to arrive. She decided that the better strategy was to show up promptly at 8:30 so that they could order together and hopefully sit down together and she could finally find out what Judy had been alluding to. Rachel was fully aware that Dr. Rabinowitz would tell her that she was focusing on Quinn's issues as a mechanism to avoid her own, but she was comfortable, or maybe even happy with that.

She opted to walk to the coffee shop and by the time she arrived, the crisp fall morning had caused her cheeks and the tip of her nose to turn slightly red. She caught a glimpse of herself in the door, checked her hair, and pushed her way inside, glancing around for a glimpse of her old...kind-of-friend. She smiled and gave a half wave when she spotted Quinn at a table in the corner. She ordered her coffee, took a deep breath, and headed in that direction.

"Hi." Rachel considered that a good first step. She stood awkwardly next to the empty chair across the table from Quinn, waiting for the woman to look up from the newspaper she was reading. "Interesting story?"

Quinn looked up at Rachel and sighed, "I see you wasted no time in getting here. Sit down, Rachel."

Rachel settled into the chair across from Quinn and silently sipped her coffee. She wasn't going to make the first move and was content to wait Quinn out. Rachel had learned to read people as part of her education at NYADA and had honed the skills with every role she had. She knew that pushing Quinn to talk would get her nowhere and, instead, she would have to wait for the blonde to open up to her. After a long five minutes, Quinn folded her newspaper, looked across the table at Rachel, and spoke. "So, what exactly did my mother tell you that got you so interested in tracking me down?"

Rachel was thrown. She had been prepared for small talk, bringing each other up to speed on the last five years of their lives, and maybe an offer to get together again. Apparently Quinn had other plans and they would be addressing the big things right from the start. "Well, as you know, I bumped into your mother and we were chatting and she mentioned that you were in town and..." With every "and" Rachel picked up speed, heading for a full on ramble.

Quinn cut her off. "She told me that she mentioned that I apparently need friends around. There's no need to lie to my face." Quinn's voice was edged with a tinge of hostility that Rachel hadn't heard since they clashed with each other at William McKinley. It made the hairs stand up on the back of her arms.

"I'm sorry, Quinn. I found it fairly inappropriate that your mother even assumed we were still friends. I haven't talked to you in years so I really didn't feel like it was my place to push you. If something is going on in your life and if you want to talk about it I am probably the last person you would come to. I am happy to just catch up if you want, or we can just go our separate ways. But I have to say it is wonderful to see you and you look fantastic."

"It's good to know you still use fifty words when five would do," Quinn responded, but to Rachel's surprise, the words were accompanied by gentle laughter. Quinn's face shifted into a tentative smile. "You look great too, Rachel. New York has really been good for you."

Rachel smiled, genuinely. "Thanks. As you know, I have been running quite a bit lately." She intentionally kept her response short.

Quinn flipped open the Arts section and pulled out the crossword. "It's Tuesday," she said, "so even you should get some of these." They lapsed into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by occasional references to puzzle answers (Rachel: "37 across - Andrew Lloyd Webber musical - is Evita." Quinn: You would get that one.") They were waiting each other out in a battle of wills of sorts but the initial tension had dissipated. This felt familiar to Rachel, like they hadn't lost any time at all. In college, it had taken her months to trust Quinn fully, to accept that they were friends. Now, in this moment, she was pleased to find herself immediately reverting to that sense of trust.

Finally, Quinn took a deep breath and spoke. "Russell has cancer. That's why my sister is getting married now. Before...he...isn't here to see it."

Rachel contemplated her response. Thinking before she spoke wasn't her strong suit but she didn't want to mess this up. She knew Quinn wasn't likely to continue to be open with her if she said the wrong thing and she likely had only one chance to get things right. She took in the woman sitting across from her nervously shredding the edge of her newspaper and staring down at the table. "Fuck, Quinn." The blonde raised her hazel eyes to meet Rachel's brown ones. "I know you and Russell haven't been close but I can't imagine what you are going through. What can I do?"

Quinn's response was quick. "He is a bastard but it is killing my mom to lose him. I am here for her, not him. But what I really need is to not think about it. To not think about cancer, weddings, my family, anything. And, since when do you say fuck?"

"A lot has changed about me, Quinn Fabray," Rachel said with a wink. Then she caught herself. She should not EVER wink at Quinn Fucking Fabray. "So, it is way too early to get drunk, but my dads are at work all day and have a Netflix subscription so I don't know what you had planned..." She could see the hesitation written across Quinn's furrowed brow, but then the blonde quirked an eyebrow and smirked and Rachel knew she had made a convincing offer.

"You want me to come watch movies in your parent's basement all day because it it too early to drink? That's your offer? It is both exactly like and unlike the Rachel Berry I remember." If Rachel hadn't remembered Quinn's penchant for sarcasm she would have been worried but she merely smiled and waited for a decision. "Well, since I don't have any better offers..."

With that, Rachel knew she had succeeded.

"Driving or walking, Fabray?"


	4. Chapter 4

The pair had managed to spend most of the morning hidden away in the Berry basement not talking, and simply disappearing from the world. They had finished a movie and a half, a large bowl of popcorn, and a pot of coffee, when Rachel's phone vibrated on the table in front of her. It was a text from Steven. "How is the big gay Berry reunion going? Blaine bet me that you haven't told them yet. Don't make me lose. You really don't want to know what the stakes are but let's just say our kitchen may never be the same." Rachel stifled a giggle and that caught Quinn's attention.

"Boyfriend?" she asked.

"Nope. Roommate. And before you ask he is not boyfriend material since he is apparently going to be defiling our kitchen with Blaine Anderson." Rachel fired a text back. "Haven't told them yet, but for the love of G-d lie to Blaine because you CANNOT have sex in our kitchen!" Rachel hoped that Quinn would let things go and not ask any follow up questions, but once glance at the other woman told her she would not be getting off easy.

Quinn turned on the other end of the sofa, tucking her feet under her and leaning her chin on her hand. Her eyebrow quirked again and asked, "So your roommate is sleeping with Kurt Hummel's ex? What other gossip have I missed?"

That was not the question that Rachel expected and she exhaled loudly, releasing the breath she didn't realize she was holding. "You probably know more than I do. Other than Blaine, who I see way more of than I ever wanted to, everything I know is from Facebook. What dirt do _you_have?"

"Not much, really. The Peace Corp made it difficult to really stay in touch with any regularity. San and Britt are in California. San wants to marry her but is too scared to ask. They visited me last summer and I learned they still have trouble keeping it in their pants. I can't even tell you how many times I caught them in various locations in my apartment that were _not _the guest room." Quinn paused for a moment, then said, "I really never thought you and I would be the only ones in Lima, even temporarily. When are you going to tell me why you are really here?"

Rachel had a choice to make and she quickly opted for the same vagary she had employed with her dads. She didn't know what it was that was keeping her from coming out with the typical Rachel Berry bravado, but for some reason she just didn't feel ready. "I just needed a break from all the auditioning and I was between roles so it was as good a time as any." She then opted for a quick subject change. "So, we know Steven is not my boyfriend. In fact, I have no boyfriend or even prospects, but what about you? Seeing anyone?"

Quinn's response was quick. "Let's just say that 'I have to go home and watch my dad die of cancer and I don't know when I will be back' is kind of a relationship killer. I had been seeing someone for a few months but they apparently weren't into that kind of drama. Their words." Rachel was taken aback when Quinn started to cry. She couldn't tell whether the impetus for the tears was the breakup, or a broader issue, but she responded in the only way she knew how. She slid to the other end of the sofa, wrapped her arm around Quinn's shoulder, and turned up the volume on _Mean Girls_. Quinn leaned in, sniffled loudly, and turned toward the television. Rachel leaned her nose against the top of Quinn's head, becoming enveloped in the coconutty smell of her shampoo.

The day turned into what Quinn called an "Oeuvre de Lindsay Lohan Marathon." Neither realized the entire afternoon had passed until they heard the door open at the top of the stairs and saw Hiram Berry as he made his way into the basement and flipped on the lights. He took in the pair of them and chuckled. "Quinn Fabray. It certainly has been a while since you have been in this basement. I didn't know you were in town. Are you able to join us for dinner?"

Rachel jumped in before Quinn could answer. "Daddy, Quinn is in town for her sister's wedding. I am sure she has something better to do as I have kept her here all day catching up. Quinn?" She had been trying to give the other woman an out, and the look of relief on Quinn's face was evident.

"Maybe another time, Mr. Berry. I really should help my mom with centerpieces or something." She grabbed Rachel's phone off the table and typed her number in. "You've got my number now." She was up the stairs before Rachel could finish saying the word goodbye.

Hiram turned to his daughter. "Quinn Fabray? You didn't mention you would be seeing her. I didn't realize you two were still close."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "We ran into each other at coffee this morning. We are catching up. There aren't exactly a lot of people in Lima to hang out with while you and dad are at work. Speaking of, where is he? Don't you two usually come home together?"

"Working late. It's just us tonight." With that, Rachel saw an opening that she hadn't even been looking for.

"In that case, Daddy, can I cook you dinner?" Hiram Berry knew his daughter and with those words, he knew something big was coming. Rachel was not a prolific cook by any means and the last time she had offered to make a meal, she had told him that she and Finn were over (which to Rachel was the end of the world and to her fathers was an enormous relief). That was nearly a decade ago and, as far as he knew, Rachel was single so he couldn't imagine what kind of bombshell she had to drop but he steeled himself for horrible cooking and worse news. He couldn't help himself and before he could stop them, the words came spewing out of his mouth.

"Rachel Barbra Berry, are you pregnant?"

Rachel doubled over with laughter, laughing so hard that tears poured from her eyes as she pounded her fist against the cushion of the sofa. Hiram, for his part, did not see the joke. "Ok then, Daughter. What is the big news you are going to drop on me over this dinner you plan to make, which, by the way, I hope for both our sakes means ordering take-out?"

Rachel, still laughing, gasped out, "Daddy you couldn't be more wrong. I'm..." and the words got stuck. She sobered, her laughter stopping abruptly. She glanced up once, meeting Hiram's expectant gaze, then turned her eyes down toward her hands, took a deep breath and completed the sentence. "...gay."

It was Hiram's turn to laugh, which did not go over well. She scowled petulantly and stood to storm up the stairs but her father caught her wrist first. Between chuckles he said, "Rachel, is that what this mystery trip is about? How could you think we would care one bit? You do remember the _man_I'm married to? Your other father? We aren't hypocrites, sweetie."

"But..." Rachel's lip quavered. "You aren't disappointed that I am perpetuating the stereotype that every bigot everywhere uses against gay parents? I don't want to ... No. I can't disappoint you and dad. I can't!" Her tears fell then with earnest, but she was wrapped in her father's strong arms and he kissed the top of her head, holding her until they stopped.

Hiram pulled back, looked Rachel in the eye and told her, "Don't be stupid. Now let's have some dinner. Who gets to tell Leroy?"

"You can call dad and tell him, daddy! I have to call Steven and stop him from fucking Blaine in our kitchen!" With that, Rachel flew out of the basement leaving a stunned, confused man in her wake.

Over dessert in the Berry kitchen Rachel explained the full situation to both of her parents. She told them about Dr. Rabinowitz's theory, about her one-night stand, and about her realizations regarding her past relationships. As she poured her heart out to her fathers she became more and more sure that she had found a root of her issues with love and commitment. They talked well into the night and Rachel went to bed feeling lighter, but with a nagging worry about Quinn that she just couldn't let go. As she was falling asleep, she pulled her phone from the nightstand and texted, "I meant what I said today, Q. Please let me know if you need anything. The Berry Basement is always open. And, after 12:00 pm we have alcohol."

Quinn's response was almost immediate. "What about mimosas and vegan doughnuts? I will be over at 9:00." Before she would respond, another message arrived. "And thanks."

Rachel shot back, "I like how you think, Q. Though I prefer screwdrivers..." She didn't expect any response and she particularly didn't expect to receive, "Didn't know you were so into things with the word screw in them...I'll bring juice. Add whatever you want."

Rachel responded, "I don't know what you are implying ;). I will let you sleep on that." She shut her phone off and closed her eyes, trying to convince herself it was not a bad idea to flirt with Quinn Fabray.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thank you to everyone who had read and reviewed! I am glad you seem to be enjoying my experiment in Future!Fic (and, really, fic writing in general). Hopefully this continues to not disappoint!**_

* * *

Rachel and Quinn developed a pattern over the next few days. They watched movies in Rachel's basement, walked around their neighborhood, and caught each other up on the time they had been apart. They talked extensively about their pasts, both together and apart, and each woman began to understand where the other had been coming from. Rachel, for her part, saw the true pain that Quinn had been in during high school - first to conform to the impossibly high standard set by her parents and, after Beth, to simply survive. She had had enough therapy around her own issues from those four years and could only imagine how hard it had been for Quinn. While Rachel did not appreciate that she had often been Quinn's outlet for anger, ten years had given her enough distance to give the woman a chance to have grown up.

They either actively or unintentionally (Rachel wasn't sure) avoided the topic of past relationships. Quinn wasn't asking and Rachel wasn't telling. She was definitely interested in Quinn's past relationships, but given Quinn's tears the last time they talked about it, she chose to tiptoe around the issue. Being a fantastic internet detective, Rachel had tried to figure out just who was stupid enough to push Quinn aside for herself. On Facebook, Quinn had plenty of photos of herself with her college boyfriend but, after that, there was a relative drought of photos of the blonde anywhere online. While Rachel was becoming comfortable with the fact that she would have to ask Quinn directly about her love life, she wasn't at all comfortable with, or ready to address, the reasons why she wanted to know.

On Friday morning as they were walking, Quinn blurted, somewhat out of the blue, "What are you doing tomorrow?"

Rachel smiled. She had been enjoying distracting Quinn and getting to know the woman she thought she had lost. "What did you have in mind, Q?"

Quinn looked nervous which made Rachel's heartbeat speed up rapidly. Her hands picked at the lint in the bottom of her pockets as she waited for Quinn to follow up. The blonde spoke quietly, her voice nearly a whisper. "Come with me to my sister's wedding? I don't think I can be there alone."

Rachel hesitated, only because she really didn't know how her presence would complicate matters at the already-messy Fabray house. She knew that Judy would be fine, but had gotten no indicators from Quinn how Russell was dealing with matters, let alone how he would feel about a Berry being in his home. Add to that the stress of a wedding being held under less than ideal circumstances and the whole thing sounded like a giant nebulous mess.

Quinn must have sensed Rachel's hesitation because she reached down and grasped her friend's hand. "I don't care what anyone thinks, Rachel. You are my only friend here and I have a feeling tomorrow I am going to want someone in my corner."

Rachel knew there was only one possible answer. "Ok."

Saturday morning found Rachel standing next to Quinn outside the Lima Lutheran Church tugging at the sleeves of a dress she wasn't entirely sure was even appropriate wedding attire. The wedding was to begin at 10:00 and the clock was pushing dangerously close to that hour, spurring Rachel to action. She glanced at Quinn who looked like she was either going to pass out or throw up and tentatively touched the back of her hand. "Quinn, I know we have to be here, but you are not alone. If it gets to be too much, just let me know and we can...oh, I don't know...flee or something."

Quinn sighed and the two of them made their way into the church and up the aisle to the front row where Judy Fabray was already sitting. If the older blonde had anything to say about their late arrival she kept it to herself, merely gesturing for them to take their seats as, almost simultaneously, the organist began to play. This hodge-podge second wedding had no wedding party so as Rachel turned to the back of the church she audibly gasped at the image of a very gaunt, frail, almost shrunken Russell Fabray clinging to his eldest daughter's arm. It was clear she was holding him up as they made their way slowly toward the altar. Rachel didn't falter when Quinn, with a visible tear rolling down her face, grasped her hand and squeezed. Quinn held her hand through the entire ceremony, intertwined their fingers as they exited the church, and only severed their connection when forced to do so in order to drive back to the Fabrays' for the reception. When Quinn let go, Rachel felt an emptiness that she opted to push aside for the time being, focusing instead on the long afternoon she had in front of her.

From the moment that Rachel and Quinn entered Judy Fabray's parlor it was clear that the afternoon was going to be anything but pleasant. Quinn's sister and her new husband stood to one side of the room, smiles plastered on their faces, flanking Russell's armchair. Judy was on the other side of the room, moving frenetically up and down a long table, adjusting cruditè platters and constantly realigning rows of plastic wine cups. Between the two, a small number of stoic guests mingled and made small talk, nobody daring to approach either host. Quinn paused in the doorway and reached, again for Rachel's hand. She leaned close to Rachel's ear and whispered, "Ten minutes and we are so out of here. I will buy you all the drinks in the world if we don't have to stay." Rachel nodded, tightening her grip on Quinn's hand, and shivered at the proximity of the other woman's lips to her ear.

They ended up at "oe's" and three shots in, Rachel was ignoring the steady vibration of her phone in her purse while being incredibly tuned into the vibrations of her body she felt pulling her toward Quinn. Her hand kept drifting to the blonde's arm, brushing against it occasionally resting on her bicep. Rachel could not help but notice the goosebumps that appeared on Quinn's arm with every brush. They leaned close together to hear each other over the blaring country music in the background and Rachel was incredibly glad for the excuse for the proximity she was currently enjoying. She held in a gasp when Quinn, animatedly recalling the time Puck had stolen an ATM from a convenience store, placed her hand squarely in the middle of Rachel's thigh, laughing out, "Don't you remember how completely STUPID we all were back then?!"

Ten minutes later, Quinn had not removed her hand and, in fact, had started idly stroking just above Rachel's knee with the inside of her thumb. As Rachel tried to stay present in the moment, to follow the conversation, she felt herself getting lost in the other woman. Rachel's gaze drifted between Quinn's eyes and her lips, her eyes and her lips, her eyes and her lips … eyes … lips … eyes … "Rachel?" Quinn had clearly noticed that she was no longer paying attention.

Rachel tried to ignore the smirk on Quinn's face and the blush she felt rising in her own cheeks. "These … shots are really affecting me, Q. Or maybe I am tired. Or …"

Quinn's signature eyebrow raise accompanied her retort, "Tired, huh? Well maybe we should get you into bed."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Rachel fell off of her stool. Fell. Off. She looked up at Quinn, mortified, from amidst the peanut shells and bar floor detritus, terrified of what she would see. Quinn, for her part, was completely doubled over with laughter, gasping between breaths, "Rachel! Are you ok?! I wasn't trying to kill you!"

Rachel took a moment to consider her options. She decided that she could:  
(1) Lie there, mortified, until Quinn disappeared  
(2) Die  
(3) Shake it off as though nothing happened  
(4) Run

She weighed the relative effectiveness of each strategy and opted, ultimately to stand up, look Quinn square in the eye, straighten her skirt and say, "Thank you for the lovely day. I think I need to check up on my fathers. Text me!" The last two words were cast over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

Rachel's smooth exit was halted by a hand on her shoulder, grasping her and spinning her around. She was pulled straight into Quinn's arms and immediately relaxed into the other woman's tight hug. "I'm sorry, Rach. I didn't mean to laugh. It's just … I didn't mean to shock you. I had no idea my joke would fall that flat." Rachel stiffened at the word "joke." She extracted herself from Quinn's embrace and her face clearly displayed her disappointment and embarrassment, both from her fall and from her complete misread on the situation.

"Still," she said, "It is getting pretty late and I should probably see who has been blowing up my phone all night." As she spoke she pulled out her phone and realized she had been ignoring texts from her agent all evening. The last one was still on the screen. "RACHEL BERRY CALL ME ASAP. AUDITION IN TWO DAYS. YOU ARE ON THE SHORT LIST" Rachel couldn't find the words to process the message and, instead, turned the screen of her phone toward Quinn who, upon reading it, once again swept Rachel into her arms.

"I'm so happy for you, Rachel Berry!" They twirled around once, twice, three times, and as Rachel glanced up at the taller woman, Quinn tilted her head down, brushing her lips softly against Rachel's. Rachel's eyes fluttered closed for a moment and she sighed against Quinn's lips. She couldn't process the feeling of softness coupled with the charge of electricity that coursed through her from the briefest kiss. She pulled back, opened her eyes, and saw a look of confusion written across Quinn's face. Then, she ran.

Rachel ran straight across the parking lot where she stopped to kick off her heels, and continued to run straight back to her father's house, up the stairs, and into her room. She was pretty sure she initially heard Quinn shouting her name in the distance as she fled, but it did not cause her to pause in any way. She was confused, mortified and, above all, terrified that she had somehow destroyed her friendship with Quinn before it had a chance to even get off the ground again.

Rachel opened her laptop and booked a flight back to New York. The one positive glimmer in the whole situation was that she didn't actually _live_ in Lima. She could jump on a plane, head back to her apartment, and pretend Quinn Fabray did not exist. She could forget that she overreacted and kissed her _straight _friend, that she made a complete ass of herself and RAN from the scene, that she effectively murdered her chances of reconnecting with Quinn, and, worst, that she could no longer be there for Quinn in a time when she clearly needed someone.

She flopped straight back onto her bed, pulled her pillow over her face and shouted, "FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!" into the feathers. Rachel grabbed her phone and fired off a text to Steven. "Turns out I am no better at women than men. Kill me now." Before he could respond there was a soft knock at the door. "If you are Quinn Fabray, I am dead, so please go away. If you are Dad or Daddy, you can come in."

"Daughter, you have obviously not grown out of your dramatic entrances and exits. Do I have to go track down Quinn Fabray and give her the talking to she deserved ten years ago?" Hiram Berry's subtle smirk gave away his feigned anger. "Do you want to tell me what happened or am I to be left to assume."

"Daddy, I am happy for you to assume whatever you want." Rachel was too mortified to explain ANYTHING. "Suffice it to say, being a lesbian is confusing and I suck at it. Can I have a ride to the airport tomorrow. My agent texted. I have an audition and I need to go back to New York." She added under her breath, "before I can do anything more asinine than I have already."

Hiram grinned. "I am going to ignore whatever dramatic overreaction you are in the middle of and say, of course you can have a ride." Rachel's phone chimed next to her and Hiram saw his exit. "I will leave you to that and will see you in the morning. Congratulations, Daughter, on both accounts!" The door shut quickly so Rachel was left flipping off the back of her door.

Steven's response was, as Rachel suspected, unsympathetic. "HAHAHA. Ha. Ha. Ha. Let me guess … you made a move. She is straight. You ran?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Doesn't matter, Ass. Get sexallovertheapartment out of your system tonight because I am coming home. Some sort of audition. Thank G-d I am getting out of this town. It makes me a lunatic."

Steven was quick to respond. "I'll make Manhattans in honor of your triumphant return, Ms. Berry!"

Rachel pried herself up off of the bed, tossed on some shorts and a sweatshirt and began tossing clothes into her suitcase. She heard the "Ding" that signalled new mail, but opted to take an Ambien and pass out. Drug-induced sleep was a far better option than the alternative - staring at her ceiling and rehashing every single moment where she could have done something differently.

The first thing Rachel did when she woke up the next morning was to open her laptop to check in for her flight. She could not ignore the red indicator on her mail icon, taunting her that she had new messages. Since Quinn did not text her the night before she could only assume she would never hear from the blonde again or that Quinn had opted to reach out by email, the more "safe" and passive approach to letting her down. Rachel took a deep breath and opened her inbox. The name Quinn Fabray stared at her. The message, it turns out, was short.

_**To: Rachel Berry**_  
_**From: Quinn Fabray**_

_**I am so stupid. I made so many assumptions. Got caught up in the moment. You probably won't ever speak to me again, but know I am so, so sorry.**_

_**- *Q**_  
_**PS - Knock them dead at your audition. I assume that means you are getting out of Lima ASAP?**_

_Quinn_ was confused?! _Quinn _made assumptions?! _Quinn _got caught up in WHAT moment?! Rachel didn't even know how to begin processing Quinn's email. She had her therapist's cell number but this felt like dating 101, something she should have figured out in adolescence, and was too embarrassed to reach out to Dr. Rabinowitz. Her fathers and Steven were the only people who knew she was gay and she certainly couldn't count on any of them for sound advice without an accompanying dose of mockery. Thankfully, Rachel's impending panic attack was staved off by her Dad yelling from the bottom of the stairs. "If we don't leave now you aren't going to make it to your flight. Not that I don't love having you here, Rachel, but GET IN THE CAR!" She tossed her laptop into her shoulder bag without responding to Quinn, grabbed her suitcase, and headed out of Lima.


End file.
